How Angels Fall
by Cairnsy
Summary: The world is sitting crushingly on Katan’s shoulders, but it’s Raphael who is slowly crumbling. Set premanga, but after Rosiel is sealed away.
1. Chapter 1

_Notes_: First Angel Sanctuary fic. It centres mainly around Katan and Raphael, although other characters such as Michael will play rather large roles as well. The chapters for this are generally going to be shorter than I normally write, and there should be about 5 chapters total. The story is set before the manga but after Rosiel is locked away – it basically deals with that in between time. All thoughts and reviews are very welcome!

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**How Angels Fall.  
**_Chapter One: As heaven begins its descent into chaos, Katan seeks out Raphael in an attempt to steam the flow of violence and death. Set pre-Rosiel's resurrection._

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Katan rushed through the corridor, his anxious gaze sweeping over the apartment numbers that were etched on each door he passed. He had never strayed this far before, and although there had not been the time to ask for actual directions, he had heard enough from overly loud (and deliberately so) female cherubs to know that Raphael's residence was somewhere near. Apartment 312 had been more of a goal for some of the people that Katan had studied with than receiving high positions within the angel hierarchy, and he heard of the richly lined corridors and stunning views that made up merely the walkways of the complex.

But Katan had very little interest in the décor, especially right now. A desperate sense of relief came when he found the right entrance, and he banged loudly on the door in a manner that would have been completely unprofessional in any other situation.

"Lord Raphael, Lord Raphael." His calm calls belied his growing concern. "Please, you are urgently required." He was about to bang against the perfect, oak door once again when it suddenly opened, revealing the dishevelled angel of healing.

"I … I can wait a moment, if you like." Katan averted his gaze from Raphael's exposed chest, feeling rather than seeing the other man's responding smirk.

Katan, if I could finish things off in only a moment, then I wouldn't have the reputation I do." The slow, drawled words brought a brush of red to Katan's cheeks, but he shouldn't really have expected anything less. Raphael slouched easily against the doorframe, hooded eyes appearing deceptively casual. "What is it that brought you here at this time of night? These halls don't see a huge deal of cherubs."

Not male ones at least Katan wanted to add, but he bit his tongue. Although Raphael held no formal post beyond his archangel status, governing no one in the same sense that Michael did nor ruling over any place such as Uriel, Raphael was still his superior. At moments like this, where Raphael was draped in clothes as opposed to wearing them and staring at him with his empty, empty eyes, it was something that was often difficult to remember.

"A fight erupted in the great hall; two warring factions took to each other brutally and without remorse." A touch of urgency returned to Katan's voice. "You are desperately needed, Lord Raphael." Something flickered briefly in Raphael's eyes at the title. "There are many who are injured, many more who will not survive until dawn without your immediate assistance."

"Is that all?" Raphael seemed strangely amused. "Go to bed, Katan. This is a job for the cleaners come morning, not for me. I have … other, more pressing obligations." Raphael's smile twisted higher as a giggle came from the next room. "Ones you are improperly keeping me from."

Katan's eyes widened as Raphael moved from the doorframe and went to shut the door.

"You cannot … but, my Lord! You must save them!" The carnage was still etched deeply in Katan's mind.

"Why?" The simple, seamless question stilled Katan's anger, replacing it with something closer to disbelief. "If they wish for death, then who am I to prevent it?"

"None of them wish to die, my Lord."

"But that is not what I said, Katan." So calm, so cold. "It is not what I said." For a moment Raphael almost appeared to sag slightly against the door, but the moment was so brief that Katan wasn't entirely sure whether or not he had merely imagined it. "Tell who ever sent you that I will not be going anywhere tonight, other than bed."

"I was not sent by anyone." Raphael's smile morphed into a smirk at Katan's quiet admission.

"Because no one cares, Katan. Only you." It was not said in praise but in mockery, and Katan gaze hardened slightly in response. "Go do something fun for once, Katan, there is no reason why we can't all enjoy this fall of ours."

"I was once told, Lord Raphael," Katan began, his words soft even as his gaze never wavered from Raphael's. "I was once told that, as the Angel of Healing, you feel each angel's death as though someone had taken their sword to you instead. That must make this time of bloodshed especially difficult for you."

For a moment, Raphael didn't say anything, expressionless eyes simply silently studying him.

"I will never understand why Rosiel ever took such a liking to you." The harsh slam of the door rippled through Katan's body, the casual viciousness of Raphael's words making the world around him disappear into a mist of hurt that cut so deep that he momentarily forgot how to breathe.

_Rosiel-sama, I don't know what I'm doing anymore._

He did the only thing he knew how to. The pain was roughly pushed aside, and Katan turned sharply - too sharply – on his heels and headed back towards the grand hall. There was surely something he could do to help, even if he wasn't Raphael.

Even if he wasn't Rosiel.

He knew, as he'd always known, that it would never be quite enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Thanks very much for the nice reviews, I had the first two chapters and the fourth chapter pretty much written before I started posting, but the third chapter is being a bit of problem. As a result, it may be a little longer before the next chapter is posted. The main plot is split fairly evenly between Katan and Raphael, so occasionally a chapter favours one over the the other, although later chapters are shared between them more equally.

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**How Angels Fall  
**_Chapter two: Who heals the healer?_

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He went, anyway.

It was not because of the silly, silly cherub. Katan was someone that most angels somehow seemed to know even though he had never done anything to distinguish himself. Kind and good and so completely _angelic _that everyone else seemed to pale in comparison, Katan was still hardly anything special when it came to his skills or leadership ability. Katan, Raphael had always thought, was the perfect sort of person to serve others, unwavering in his dedication and devotion to everything that was simplistically good.

But, no-one had told Katan to track Raphael down, and Raphael couldn't help but wonder when Katan had developed enough personality to be able to make such a decision on his own. It was something that would have concerned some of those higher up in the system if they cared for anything other than their own status.

Still, Katan was not the reason why Raphael went. He went, because he always did. People seemed to sometimes forget that, people seemed to forget a lot of things.

Raphael was tired of existing only through the rumor mill.

Perhaps, he was just simply tired. Each step certainly felt heavier than they should the closer he got the main hall, tendrils of pain and hurt reaching out and tugging him forward even before he was at the tall, imposing doors. They weren't closed as they usually were, a broken body wedged there as though it was instead a doorstop.

There was nothing more that Raphael wanted than to turn around and go somewhere – anywhere – else. Instead, he dropped to his knees and quietly placed a hand on the fallen angel's forehead. He let his eyes drift closed, slowly threading back consciousness to the body below him, knitting together muscles and ligaments with an ease that was becoming far too familiar.

The angel would live, for better or worse. He would not, however, be conscious for some time, and Raphael did not bother to move him into a more comfortable position. Moving purposely into the room, his gaze took on a flicker of grimness as he surveyed the mess of bodies. Some were leaning against the tall, pale columns, groaning quietly as they waited for attention. Others still were making their way over to the few who were there to help, pressing forward even though they at least would survive for a few more hours without immediate aid. More, however, were scattered across the marble floors, drowning in a wash of blood that could have been their own.

And, on the far side of the room using his small amount of healing magic on a battered looking angel, was Katan. Of course. Katan, who was trying to save all of heaven on his own. The cherub seemed to know instinctually when Raphael entered, lifting strained eyes to meet his. There wasn't anything knowing or condescending in the gaze, just an unshielded relief that made Raphael feel decidedly uncomfortable.

He didn't acknowledge the other angel beyond that initial contact, turning his attention to the wave of injured. Some growled their politics to him as he healed them, others dared to dictate which ones he should or shouldn't save. All of them, he could tell, were unnerved by the cold, detached way in which he put them back together. If they'd expected a more personable bedside manner, they shouldn't have gotten themselves into such a stupid, stupid situation in the first place – or at least had the decency to be better looking.

It seemed hours before he was done, although surely it hadn't been that long. There were those he couldn't save, at least, ones he _thought_ that he couldn't save without sacrificing his own life in their place, and that slight sliver of doubt stayed with him. He'd cursed them all a hundred times as he'd kneeled in their blood, the red seeping into his pristine trousers and sinking deeper, always deeper. Cursed the angels who fought between themselves, cursed the superiors who pulled the strings. Cursed the arch angel that was supposed to be here, should have been here.

_God damn it, Uriel. I can't keep doing this._

The empty corridors were a relief from the claustrophobic hall, although the change did nothing to lift the haziness that always came after his healing abilities had been stretched across too many patients. He still smirked appreciatively when a pretty female angel brushed past, and still invited another one over later when their paths crossed, but it seemed to be more on reflex than through any true desire for company. Right now, what he wanted more than anything else was the solitude of his own room.

He did not break from his step as the corridor wall to his right suddenly imploded, plaster and stone crumbling as through they were instead paper. Michael didn't seem at all bothered by the destruction he had caused, he never did, nor that Raphael didn't greet him. Instead, Michael simply bounced to Raphael's side, sparing the fallen wall a mere backwards smirk before thrusting a huge horn at him.

"Souvenir. Fucking fantastic, huh?"

"It'll go perfectly with my furniture," Raphael said wryly, wincing slightly as he took the grotesque piece. His shelves and mantels were already brimming with various animal and demon parts that Michael had gifted him.

"I was thinking maybe you could hang it above your bed."

And, while he did appreciate all this on some level, Raphael was too damn tired to play this game today.

"Why exactly are you here, Michael? You usually turn up while the blood is being shed, not after."

"Are you that fucking stupid?" Michael looked almost amused. "I'm here to catch you, of course."

The words stilled Raphael mid step, and for the briefest of moments suddenly wide eyes met knowing ones. Then, his knees buckled traitorously and the haze became instead a blanket of colour, and as the corridor around him seemed to simply evaporate, strong arms wrapped protectively around his shoulders.

"Moron."


End file.
